


home in the darkness, home on the highway, home isn't my way, home I'll never be

by staubfingers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, First Time, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Phone Sex, Possessive Dean Winchester, Sibling Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staubfingers/pseuds/staubfingers
Summary: It takes Dean eight days to finally call. It takes Sam ten minutes to turn everything upside-down.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 95
Collections: Every Time We Touch: A First-Time Wincest Fest





	home in the darkness, home on the highway, home isn't my way, home I'll never be

**Author's Note:**

> 'Free To Be You And Me' aka the episode they both tried to live a life on their own and failed. They frequently called each during their time apart, you can't convince me otherwise.  
> There is an unprotected sexual encounter with a stranger mentioned, and please _never do that!_ This is porn, even though all the dialogue might deviate from it.  
> Title is from _Burnin' For You_ by _Blue Öyster Cult_ (Beware: I only learned English in school.)

It's too goddamn quiet. Sam's gone and Dean can't sleep because the silence is unbearable, leaving him restless and alone with thoughts and memories he's able to ignore during the day, but that leave him shaking inside the solitude of yet another motel room. He never did good on his own, nearly two decades of living and sleeping in cramped places, always with Sam by his side, left him with a deep uneasiness whenever his brother isn't next to him. And he should be used to it by now, he spent four years without a single phone-call, let alone seeing Sam, after all, but it was different back then. Sam left because he wanted a normal, apple-pie life, and even though Dean was angry, felt abandoned and hurt, a part of him was glad that Sam got out, that he wasn't damned to lead this lonely life full of privations that Dean himself was destined for. This time, however, Sam left because Dean told him to, because he agreed when Sam said he feels like it doesn't work out anymore. When Sam left for Stanford Dean was certain he'd never see his brother again, and he started to put up with it, now it's entirely on him, though, one call, one text, whatever, just two simple words - _come back -_ and Sam would, but Dean _can't_ do it.

It's the eighth day without Sam when Dean finally gives in and presses the call-button after minutes of staring onto his brother's name and trying to talk himself out of it.

“What happened?” Sam asks, breathless, picking up before Dean could change his mind again.

“Nothing,” he answers and feels his whole body relax the second he's hearing Sam's voice.

“Is everything alright?” Sam sounds scared, close to panic, and with a glance onto the screen Dean realizes it's already past 1AM.

“Yeah, I just wanted...” What did he want? Hear Sam's voice? Tell him he misses him? Ask him to come back, even though he isn't sure he wants to see Sam's face? “Check on you,” he finally says, “Forgot how late it is. Sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” There is a small smile on Sam's lips, Dean practically _hears_ it.

“Nah,” he remembers drinking two, maybe three beers, and then he lay down and thought about Sam, and stared onto his name like a teenage girl, and didn't even realize that hours pasted that way. “Did I wake you?”

“Just came home,” Sam says, and it sounds like he's sitting down on something, maybe his bed. Dean looks onto the empty bed besides his own where Sam should be, tired and only dressed in his briefs, telling Dean to finally go to sleep since they're going to hit the road in the morning.

“You went out, Sammy?” he asks, not ready to hang up yet, and afraid Sam will do it if he doesn't force them into a conversation.

“Was working. Got a job at the local bar.”

Dean already knew that, he called Bobby nearly every day, asking whether he heard from Sam, until Bobby told him off with an annoyed, “ _Call him yourself, I'm not your mailbox, you idiot_ ,” as a goodbye. He definitely won't admit to that, though, so he tries to fake the surprise in his voice when he says, “Mixing cocktails for cougars for a living now?”

“Not exactly, it's more of a 'listen to local middle-aged men being unsatisfied with their boring lives'– kinda bar.” There is the slightest hint of a mocking tone in Sam's voice and Dean can't help but wonder whether Bobby told him about Dean's frequent calls. That traitor probably did.

“Bad for you, you'd made a fortune in tips off of those ladies.” And it's true, where-ever Sam goes women turn their heads after him. Sure, he's freakishly tall, but that's not what makes them keep on staring, it's his muscular build and his ridiculously handsome face, and Dean would know, it's what makes him stare at his brother whenever he's certain Sam won't notice as well.

“Don't worry, it's not just the cougars who like me.” It could be a joke, Dean's sure he'd be able to see it in Sam's eyes, but all he can rely on now is Sam's voice, and something hot begins to take hold of Dean's body, something that feels a lot like jealousy.

“Is that so?” he asks, hesitantly and a bit too quiet for it to be a normal, curious question. It was never a big deal, talking about whom they slept with, it changed with Ruby, though, because suddenly Sam hadn't just sex with someone, but he _chose_ her when Dean asked him to stay.

Sam seems to think about the same thing, there is a short silence on the other end of the line, then a sigh, “My co-worker, she's nice, asked me out on a date. She isn't a demon, I checked, don't worry.”

This time it's definitely supposed to be a joke, but Dean still feels some sense of relief washing over him, “That's good. You like her?”

Sam laughs at that, a small, bitter laugh, and Dean hears the distinct squeak of an old, rusty bed-frame. He wonders whether Sam just lay down, feet sore from standing and walking all day, his legs covered by a flimsy blanket while his chest is bare and too warm despite the low room temperature. “She thinks my name is Kyle and suspects that I'm in witness-protection, which is honestly better than the truth, so it doesn't really matter whether I like her, does it?”

Yes, it does, because Sam liked Ruby, he liked her so much that he left Dean for her, and if he likes this co-worker-chick it means he might never come back. Dean's aware that it's a stupid thought, _he_ sent Sam away, _he_ wanted them to go separate ways, and Sam would come back the second Dean asks him to. Wouldn't he? “You gonna fuck her?” He shouldn't ask this, it's none of his business, and he isn't even sure he wants to hear the answer, yet part of him _needs_ to know.

“I...” Sam audibly swallows, “I don't think I should, but... It's been a while.”

Was it? It dawns on Dean then that Sam probably didn't sleep with anyone else during that _thing_ he and Ruby had going on, and Dean should've known it, considering Sam's weird conceptions about faithfulness and how he kept completely silent about his sex life ever since Dean came back, but Dean hasn't really thought about it before. Well, he has, in fact he couldn't stop asking himself why Sam would ever fuck a demon, and he focused so much on that, that he ignored how Sam depended on Ruby, how Sam turned more and more to her and forgot about Dean and everyone else over it. The worst thing, though, is that this bitch was the last one who got her hands on his brother, and Dean nearly wishes Sam fucked this nameless co-worker. Nearly.

“Yeah,” he finally says after he kept quiet for a bit too long, not aware what he's agreeing to exactly. 

“Are you telling me you haven't picked up anyone in a while? You really want me to believe that?” Sam asks in a voice that's clearly meant to cheer Dean up, and that's the thing about Sam; he's always doing his best to get Dean out of the dark places his mind sometimes takes him to.

“' _A while_ ' isn't the same for everyone, for some it's years, for others it' days,” Dean reminds him dutifully and gets a chuckle in return.

“Yeah? So, you're the latter?”

“Of course I am.”

For a moment neither of them says anything, and Dean would've been scared Sam hung up on him if he didn't hear his brother's familiar breathing. He would do anything to have Sam in the bed beside his own right now, to see him, to hear his deep breaths without the phone's low hissing-noise. He'd do anything but ask for it.

“Tell me about it,” Sam suddenly says, his voice slightly hoarse.

“About what? About whom I fucked?”

Sam clears his throat, it doesn't really help with the tone of his voice, though, ”Yes.”

It's not like Dean didn't share a few stories, and with them far too many details, before, however, Sam never asked for it, only ever listened attentively while claiming to not want to hear another word.

“I was in a bar,” he spent nearly every night of the last week in one of those, “She looked at me, I bought her a drink, we went into one of the restroom stalls. She blew me.” He tries to keep it neutral, a simple listing of what happened, unsure what Sam's truly asking of him.

“How was it?” Sam's breathing goes slightly faster than it did a few seconds ago, and a hotness, that got nothing to do with jealousy, starts to spread from Dean's stomach through his whole body.

“It was- I had better, but she was enthusiastic, went right for it,” he closes his eyes, just keeps talking like it's the sort of conversation they're having on a regular basis, “Her hands were too cold, was nearly painful when she first grabbed me, but then she started jerking me while doing this thing with her tongue, and it was... It just felt good, you know. Too hot and too cold at the same time.”

“Yes,” Sam says, it's dangerously close to a moan and Dean can't help but shudder, “I- this one girl had ice-cubes in her mouth while blowing me, once. Thought my dick would fall off, and then... I came really fucking hard.”

Now it's Dean who nearly moans because he _sees_ it. He pictures Sam naked and shivering, lying on his back, some woman swallowing his dick down relentlessly, and then he pictures Sam coming, imagines what his face would look like, and Dean desperately wants to see the real thing, wants to look into his brother's eyes while he's falling apart.

His dick is hard, Dean realizes, painfully so, and this is the moment he should hang up, get into the shower and let the cold water wash those thoughts away. He doesn't, though. “She wanted me to fuck her face, asked me to do it. I took hold of her hair then, held her still, and started to thrust into her. And I thought I went too hard, but she edged me on, moaned around my dick.” He hears another moan, coming from Sam, and Dean can't hold back any longer, palms his cock through the thick fabric of his jeans, regretting he didn't get rid of them earlier.

Sam is apparently wearing nothing besides his boxer, just like Dean thought he was, since he hears the unmistakable sound of a hand wrapping around a dick and starting to jerk it. “Sam,” he groans because this is _too much._ Without thinking about it, he puts the phone onto the pillow, gets rid of his jeans and his shirt, aware that Sam knows what he's doing.

“Keep talking to me, Dean,” Sam says, gasping, jerking his cock faster. And Dean finally gets his hand around his own dick, fucking up into it in an uncontrolled movement.

“She let me come down her throat, swallowed it all, and then got up to make me taste myself and let me finger her,” he continues, pretending he's still thinking about this meaningless bathroom-fuck and not about what's Sam doing to himself hundreds of miles away.

“God, I want to blow you, Dean, I want to suck your cock so fucking bad," Sam moans, _confesses_ , and through his turned on haze Dean is nearly relieved that it's finally out.

When Sam hit puberty he started to look at Dean differently, a weird hunger in his eyes Dean tried to ignore, because he knew what it had felt like to discover your body and be turned on all the time. Sam never stopped doing it, though, his glances got slightly too long and slightly too often fixed on Dean's lips, and it got harder and harder to ignore them when Sam wasn't a chubby kid any longer, but a tall, muscular man. And then he left, taking these unspoken, inappropriate feelings with him, and for four years Dean talked himself into just having imagined it. Then Sam came back.

“Yes, yes Sammy, you gonna be so good for me,” Dean mutters, and it's nearly incomprehensible, his brain shutting down more and more with every sound that leaves Sam's lips.

“Wanted to taste you for years, can't stop thinking about it,” Sam rambles on, now that he began talking he is apparently not able to keep any of it inside him a second longer.

Dean spent all his life trying to be good, to do the right thing, and it still led them right into the middle of the fucking apocalypse. He's sick of holding back.

“Fuck, all these times I heard you jerking off, all I wanted was to get over there and take care of you,” Dean admits, gathering the pre-cum leaking from his cock, using it as lube and letting out a desperate moan upon the different, better sensation.

“Why didn't you?” Sam gasps, his hand working his dick impossible faster, and Dean never regretted not acting on his desires as much as he does at this moment.

“You know why,” he answers. Because he didn't want to fuck Sam up, because he hates himself for what he wants to do to his little brother.

“I don't care. About any of this,” Sam says, even though Dean never voiced any of the countless reasons _not to do this_ , that he went over in his head like a mantra for years, “I want you, always have, always will. I want you, I want you.”

“All of you,” Dean agrees, listening to the sounds Sam's making for a second and biting down on his lip to stop himself from coming, “Gonna take such good care of you, Sammy. I'll work you open, slowly, get you ready.”

“Yes, _please_.”

He's about to tell Sam to get his fingers wet, to open himself up on them, to make Dean listen when he can't be there to do it himself, to fuck himself nice and good. Then, however, Dean realizes how much he wants to do it for real for their first time, to not just tell Sam what to do, but to be the one who sticks his fingers into his little brother. And that thought is as scary as it's turning Dean on impossibly more. “You ever fucked yourself, Sammy?” he asks instead, “Ever thought about me while doing it?”

“ _Yes_. I _need_ you inside of me, Dean. Your fingers, your cock, your tongue, anything. I'll take anything. _Please_.” And Sam would, he'd say yes to anything Dean will ask of him, just like Dean would say yes himself.

“I'm going to fuck you, I'll fuck you so good. I'll take you apart and put you back together, just to fuck you all over again. And you're going to be perfect, Sammy, because you're made for me.” He's losing himself in the movement of his hand and the noises Sam keeps making, not quite aware of what he's saying, but certain that he needs it to happen _right now_ all the same.

“I'm all you ever wanted. I'm all you'll ever need.”

“Yes, you are. I'll mark you, leave myself all over your skin, show everyone your _mine_. I'll come inside you, push my cum back into you again and again, keep it there, keep you in my bed for days.” He's close, so fucking close, he might just come from the thoughts alone, from picturing Sam under him, spread open and fucked out, all _his_.

“Please, Dean, please,” Sam lets out, and it close to a sob.

For a moment he doesn't know what Sam's asking for, then it dawns on him. “Come for me, Sammy,” he whispers, and Sam does. He nearly shouts, filthy and loud, and that's what sends Dean over the edge as well.

His brain shuts down completely with the orgasm that he feels in every cell of his body, and yet he's still aching because it's not _enough._ He needs Sam, all of him, everything that he offered, _now_ , needs to be able to kiss his lips and hold him and see his flushed face. All of that, he needs all of that and more.

He comes down from his high slowly, regaining sense of what just happened, of what he did, and waits for the panic to take hold of him, but strangely it doesn't, instead an awkward silence settles between them. He considers just hanging up, only for the split of a second, though, because hanging up would mean he just used Sam, used him to get himself off and to toss him aside straight after. And that is not what this is, this is not who he wants to be, especially not to Sam.

“Still there?” Sam asks hesitantly, probably to simply say _something_ since Dean's breathing is still far too loud to be overheard.

“Of course,” he answers, and hears an eased sigh coming from Sam's end of the line.

“I was so afraid you'd call me a freak,” Sam admits, “All those years.... I was afraid you'd never want to talk to me again.”

“Never, Sammy, I promise,” and it's the truth, because even when Sam walked out on him with Ruby by his side, Dean knew he'd take Sam back, would always take him back, no matter how much he hated him at that moment. How could this break them apart then?

“Did you know?” Sam asks after another few seconds of silence.

Did he? “I thought I read too much into it... that I was projecting.”

Sam lets out a nervous, little chuckle, “What's going to happen now?”

That the one-million-dollar-question, because despite wanting this, despite all of him screaming for just getting into the car and drive until he's with Sam again, so that can finally, _finally_ , touch him, a part of him still can't. “I need more- I can't have you come back, I just... I can't.”

“It's okay,” Sam says, sounding like this is anything but.

“It's a 'not now', not a 'not ever'”, Dean clarifies, feeling like shit and not able to bring himself to take it back. Sam left. Sam chose a demon over him, and he didn't even hesitate.

“It's alright, really,” Sam repeats, and sounds a little more convincing, “I get it, I do, what I did-”

“Not now, I don't want to go over it again, not now.”

“Yes, you're right. I think- I should sleep now- I'm tired, you're probably, too,” he says it fast, stumbling over his own words.

“I miss you, Sammy,” Dean says, nearly spits it out, afraid Sam already hung up and won't be hearing it, afraid he can't bring himself to say it any other way.

“I miss you, too,” Sam says, and again Dean hears the smile on his lips.

They're going to be okay, Dean realizes then, everything is going to be okay.


End file.
